The Better Deal You Give the Customer
by We're All To Blame
Summary: Azazel had more than the acquisition of the Colt on his mind that night in the hospital's boiler room. I'll add another chapter if you guys like this.


If the hunter only a few tens of feet in front of him had known he was there- or the reason for that matter- he might have been surprised. But of course, someone as arrogant and hard-to-handle as John Winchester wouldn't let an emotion such as shock overcome his face easily, not with an enemy present. The demon watched silently as a desperate man knelt down and began setting up the ritual for summoning demons- he became even more intrigued. Once upon a time, in a land and era much farther away than this one, Azazel had been in John Winchester's shoes. Had summoned demons to take care of the things in his life he should have, had he been a better or more powerful man at the time, done himself. He could almost recall the feeling of fright gripping every surface, crease, and cell of his body at the possibility that anything might change for the worst in his life.

He did, however, distinctly remember when he had become interested in the Winchester family. The fight he had in 1973 with one gutsy blond in some other girl's house who was virtually irrelevant now. Now there was a girl with spunk. He had told her time-bending son at the time that he would've liked to do unspeakable things to his mother, but he only wanted to get a rise out of the boy. Azazel may appreciate a woman's spirit or body once in a while, but the demon had a clear taste in men, had even while he was a human.

Which, he supposed, was why he was down in here hiding his presence in some godforsaken boiler room, truth be told. At first, he tried to convince himself that it was simply a mere fascination, an admiration of the man's near disregard for life in the weeks after his wife's death. The demon had observed with great delight when John uprooted his children from their childhood home and went on a monster killing spree. Once the human had begun making friends though, Azazel should have either taken them out, or have ceased to stalk the Winchesters. But he couldn't bring himself to tear his interest away from the family, specifically the man, doing whatever they could to climb out of their despair- it would've reminded him of the familiarity in the human spirit had his memories of such twaddle not been corroded by the centuries.

John, by this time, had finished the chalk symbol, and placed several candles and a black bowl around it, beginning a chant in Latin. He slid a knife across his palm, drawing blood and dripping it into the bowl. Lighting a match he dropped it in; the sand in the bowl flaring in a moment's time and dying just as quick. John stood then, looking around for the yellow-eyed he had just summoned.

Showtime.

Azazel finds a suitable host quickly, a janitor whose biggest accomplishment in life was maintaining a tightly knit household and being the saddest goody-two-shoes Azazel had known in a while, and reached out its hand to grab John's shoulder. "What the hell are you doing down here, buddy?" He could feel the other man's muscles tightening under his stern grasp. While in possession of John's body the previous couple of days, he took time to admire the meat suit while the human slept within the confines of his subconscious, and had to admit- the man _was_ good-looking for a mud monkey.

"I can explain." John tells his vessel, and the demon fills the thrill of the familiar chase between humans and demons conversing before the storm. But now he was about to do so with John Winchester; he knew this particular discussion (or lack thereof, whichever came first), would be interesting to say the least.

"Yeah? You're going to explain to security. Come on. You follow me." With that he turns, counting eagerly down the seconds ticking away before John halts him- he gets to two and stops, hearing the cocking of a gun behind his head.

"Hey. How stupid do you think I am?"

He shifts to find a smirk playing in the man's lips and, handsome or no he would not be made a fool of by a mere _child_ compared to him in the scheme of things. "You really want an honest answer to that?" His own cocksure grin is bordering on sensual, but what the hell? He's feeling a bit flirty today- why not use it on someone he himself had made a widower? He takes a small bit of pride out of John's light deflation, and maintains eye contact with him as two expendable lackeys from the pit flank John. "You conjuring me, John? I'm surprised. I took for a lot of things. But suicidally reckless wasn't one of them."

"I could always shoot you." John counters, and Azazel can sense John growing slightly tired of scornful laughs at his expense. But of course, the demon never let his favorite prey get away that easily before, and he certainly wouldn't begin now.

"You could always miss." He jested, and chuckled lightly at the memory of the youngest Winchester male firing a failed bullet because Azazel was faster. He even demonstrated this fact to the hunter by jokingly half-dodging an invisible bullet. Time to get down to business with John, though. "And you've only got one try, doncha? Did you really think you could trap me?" These were the kinds of treasures Azazel loved most and believed couldn't be sold at even the greatest auctions in the world.

"Oh, I don't want to trap you." What? To say the demon was surprised to see John Winchester, hunter all of things supernatural no matter how great or small, was lowering one of the few weapons in the universe powerful enough to do it for him, was no small statement. He had certainly not expected this- John was more interesting than he previously suspected. "I want to make a deal." Azazel's intrigue was peaked now.

Standing around the summoning symbol, the demon said evenly, "It's very unseemly, making deals with devils. How do I know this isn't just another trick?" This night and the circumstances flowing through it were getting more and more delicious with every passing moment. His vessel's heart began to beat slightly faster at the notion of making a deal with _John_ Winchester, John _Winchester_ going to Hell for eternity, _John Winchester's_ soul belonging to him. It was all too wonderful to believe.

"It's no trick." The man before him reassured his tingling nerves. He attempted to calm himself-the last thing he needed was for John to think that this deal meant too much to the demon. "I will give you the Colt and the bullet, but you've got to help Dean. You've got to bring him back." How fucking predictable. He could ask Azazel for anything in the world and he asks for Dean. How unbelievably human. It was no matter though, he supposed, after all he had children of his own.

"Why, John, you're a sentimentalist." The yellow-eyed demon hid his annoyance in a mask of smirks and more jests at John. He didn't mind doing so though- John had the prettiest flash of defiance and anger in his eyes whenever his family was brought up by anything of the supernatural. It had always been one of his charms in the demon's not-so-humble opinion. "If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved them." Of course, his words also held a double-meaning, a reluctance to accept John's part of the deal so easily- something he was sure the experienced hunter caught onto.

"It's a good trade." Bingo. "You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean."

That grated on Azazel's already fraying patience; Dean exorcised and killed his children after all. "Don't be so sure. He killed some people very special to me." Weighing the pros and cons of this deal, however, had him reconsidering his anger. "But you're right; he isn't much of a threat." He allowed himself a sly expression, much like a cat playing with a bird within its grasp. "And neither is your other son, of course." There it was; that looked of cursed, undeniable, unwanted knowledge of what his son was. "You know the truth, right? About Sammy? And the other children?"

John's jaw set itself, anger for his children building transparently within him. "Yeah." He stated quickly enough to move this conversation along, but reluctant to give up to much more information that had nothing to do with the deal at hand- Azazel could read it all in his pathetically illustrated face. "I've known for a while."

"But Sam doesn't, does he?" The demon asserted with immense glee in John's irritation. "You've been playing dumb." He knew he had pushed John far enough when his eyes flashed brighter, and he spoke in a low, threatening tone through nearly gritted teeth.

"Can you bring Dean back? Yes or no?"

"No." Azazel continued to milk John's misery as much as he could. However, he didn't want the other male walking away from this deal- he still wanted that gun. "But I know someone who can. It's not a problem." He didn't mention the fact that the "helper" in his thoughts was a reaper currently in the hospital, or that this particular reaper was after John's eldest boy.

"Good. Before I give you the gun, I'm going to want to make sure that Dean's okay. With my own eyes." John made sure to look the demon in his unusually yellow orbs, conveying the warning through his own deep green ones.

"Oh," Azazel feigned hurt. "John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?" John maintained eye contact while tilting his head downward, giving a look the demon knew too well as snarky suspicion. "Fine." He relented, letting John initiate the process of finishing off this deal.

"So we have a deal?" The demon didn't like the fact that John was beginning to let his guard down, and hope was sneaking into his voice.

"No, John," he began with an angered tone of his own, as if it should have been obvious to the hunter he wasn't going to get off that easily. And to Azazel it was obvious. "Not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot." His own sickening orbs flashed, not with rage but with power and wicked amusement.

"With what?" It was clear that John was confused now and trying to conceal it, had thought that all his Dean problems could be solved with the Colt and the bullet. He was almost sweet in his naivety, Azazel thought.

"There's something else I want, as much as that gun. Maybe more." He walked closer; his smile became that much more predatory, that much more sadistic, and he watched as John shifted uncomfortably before him. "Now, John, don't you want to save your baby boy…?"

John looked up then, defiance burning green fire in his eyes, but soon enough he managed to blink it away. He needed to save his son, Azazel knew, and would do virtually anything to do so. Slinking up ever closer like a graceful cat crossbred with a sinning snake, he placed his host's arms surprisingly gently on John's broader shoulders. At first the hunter tensed, and very nearly flinched away, but then he remembered his son, dying on one of the upper floors, and he tightly grabbed the possessed janitor's back hairs, yanking the demon into a stiff embrace. Azazel had better, more passionate kisses in his lifetime- afterlife time?- but somehow they paled in comparison to the thought of John Winchester biggest "hunter-thorn" in his ass for the first time in many centuries, finally belonging to him. Anything, everything the demon asked of him would have to be fulfilled by the dark-haired man, and Azazel shivered at the ideas crossing his mind.

The hunter-extraordinaire pulled away a little too quickly for Azazel's liking, he was just beginning to get into it, and wiped him mouth instantly afterward. The demon gave his most sincerely evil curl of the lips and said with great weight to his words, "nice doing business with you, John." And then he disappeared, leaving John to hope against hope that he had made the right decision.

* * *

Azazel arrived in time to see the eldest Winchester Boy-Idiotic-Wonder turning toward his reaper with a look of acceptance in defeat. Looks like he got to the scene right on time. The lights flickered as he began to pour his black ichor through the ventilation system.

"What the hell?" He heard the life-sized Ken doll ask incredibly. Azazel ignored him though for now, in favor of the reaper who seemed to know all too well why he was here.

"You can't do this! Get away!" She screamed as he poured into her mouth.

"What's happening?!" The other in the room asked like a fricking moron. Honestly; Azazel needed to speak with John about whether or not this one was worth saving. What a dumbass. He'd always wondered why the kid would rather hunt than go to school and now he knew the reason- it was the one thing he was nearly adequate at, and even that statement had a question mark at the end. But he'd hold up his end, he guessed, and laugh about with John later.

For now he only turned. "Today's your lucky day, kid." He placed a hand on Dean the Dumbass's head and the boy convulsed, returning forcefully to his body. He wouldn't remember anything about his encounter with the reaper or the demon, but that hardly mattered to Azazel as he went to find John's room. He'd wait for his prize there.

* * *

Ten minutes later, John walked heavily into his hospital room and immediately noticed Azazel, inside his re-found vessel, perched upon his bed. He looked slightly annoyed as he full took in the scene. "Couldn't bear to wait somewhere else; have you been here the entire time?"

"Oh, John," Azazel stated with feigned innocence. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He batted "his" eyelashes for emphasis. John rolled his eyes at the demon's obvious excitement for the result of this entire situation. He walked further into the room, and placed the Colt on the small bedside table by Azazel.

"Okay." Was all the hunter said after an almost invisible sigh. Azazel took his soul from his body, and brought it to his "sanctuary' of sorts in Hell for safe-keeping against Alastair. He may have been the temporary King of Hell, but it was still unorthodox for a demon to acquire a human soul and then not bring it to be tortured by the High Inquisitor. But he had his owns plans for the oldest Winchester male- he just didn't want to have to answer any questions.

He went back to the surface, hiding his presence once more to watch the spectacle that was surely happening in John's hospital room. He made it there with enough time to hear the inevitable, the beautiful lyrics that were still ringing in his ears long after he returned to Hell. The torrent of emotions on Sam and Dean Winchester's faces were just icing on his cake at that point.

"I'll call it. Time of death: 10:41 am."


End file.
